


Acceptance

by cloverpaloma



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, POV Alternating, Short & Sweet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-07-02 10:10:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15794370
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloverpaloma/pseuds/cloverpaloma
Summary: "There are things I miss that I shouldn't, and things I don't that I should.Sometimes we want what we couldn't, sometimes we love who we could."





	Acceptance

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the poem "Acceptance," by Lang Leav.

The new apartment is cold. Jason blames it on the faulty heating system, but then summer comes and it’s still just as cold. So he wears his jacket all the time. Doesn’t think about the warmth that filled his old home.

…

There are holes where things used to be. There used to be knives, and domino masks, and grappling hooks scattered on the table and floor. Tim fills the holes in his apartment with books and paper and work. It’s harder to fill the people-shaped holes.

…

His lungs are cold, too, so he picks up smoking again. He knows what they’d say, but he does it anyway. That’s what causes him to bump into the Replacement at three o’clock in the morning in a convenience store. The Replacement is buying razors.

…

He knows why he does it, why he invites Jason back to his place. He misses his old life, or maybe his middle life, before the loneliness now and after snapping pictures from a distance. Jason, to his credit, doesn’t say a word. Tim thinks he knows, though.

…

It warms him up, a little. So he comes back the next week. The Replacement, Tim, opens the window on his second knock. He looks cold, too, so Jason doesn’t give him any grief about being in on a Friday night. Hell, he’s here, so he can’t talk.

…

The first time he says something is a month after that first night. He asks Tim if he’s okay. Tim can’t answer, so he just blinks. Jason sighs, looks at the holes that Tim’s gotten better at hiding. Apologizes, like he cares. Tim doesn’t care.

…

He stays a full night once. Goes to sleep warm, and wakes up warm. He can’t remember the last time he’s slept so well, or when the Replacement got so sad-looking. He doesn’t leave a note before dressing and slipping out the window.

…

The people-holes still hurt sometimes, but it comes and goes. When Jason shows up with flowers, though, it hits in a wave. He can’t breathe, but he still smells the flowers. They don’t talk that night, but Jason waits until he wakes up the next day before leaving.

…

He’s out of town for three weeks, but the second he’s back, he goes to Tim. The Replacement. Whatever. The apartment seems more cluttered, and Tim seems smaller. It worries him, a little. He stays into the morning, too, and makes breakfast. Tim smiles.

…

They stay up late, now, sometimes. Tired in a good way, the best way, and they talk. Not a lot, not enough. But the people-holes are shrinking, or maybe they’re being filled. Tim isn’t sure, but he likes the feeling. The not being alone.

…

Jason isn’t sure when he realizes he’s in love. It isn’t as shocking as he expects. He brings a bottle of wine and a box of pasta that night, smiles at Tim’s face. They keep their clothes on that night, but somehow Jason’s warmer than he’s ever been.

…

They go out for lunch now, and dance without music; Fridays they have wine and Italian food. The apartment needs less filling when Jason is there. He still misses things, people, places. But he can’t always see them, past Jason’s annoying bulk. Can’t see them.

…

He spends less time at his own place, places. Bumps into old friends who were new friends. He smokes less, Tim hates the smell. Goes out at night less, where it’s cold. And he talks less, because it makes him warmer to listen.

…

The day Bruce comes back Tim cries. Holds onto him, and then Alfred, and then Dick. He expects the holes to be filled completely, but they don’t fit anymore. Bruce, Alfred, Dick. They aren’t the right shape, they’re too small. Too small.

…

Tim goes back to the Bats, and Jason does not cry. Finishes the bottle of wine they started the night before. He hears a knock, opens it before the second one lands. Tim blinks at him. And Jason crumbles, crumbles into Tim. Tim doesn’t laugh at the wetness around his eyes.

…

There are still holes, but they’re filled, now, with warmth. He eats pasta, and laughs, and cries, and talks. He makes spaces; in his apartment, in his life. And Jason fits, like he was waiting for Tim. Waiting for Tim to make a hole, Jason-shaped.

**Author's Note:**

> Go check out all Lang Leav's stuff, it's so great. Hope you enjoyed!


End file.
